Living Through Hell Trilogy: Part One: The Fall
by Soviet Am Blacktree
Summary: When the might of Nations clash,the weak will falter and fall,however the weak may not always remain so.M for: Torture,Rape,Mentions of Rape,and graphic descriptions of war's aftermath.Main pairing:RussLiet, mentions of PolLiet and Russia with others.


Stage the First:

The Fall

The attack was forewarned, we knew it was coming, and yet we neglected to fully prepare for what had to be done. Why? Maybe because we were confident that we were stronger than the wolves that howled at the door, because we were powerful and such power corrupts minds into thinking that such power is absolute and will forever remain so.

We were all of us fools.

He came in the night, and one by one we fell to the strength that was hidden in that bold northern country. His eyes lit with a demonic ferocity as his bright sword cut into the flesh of our countries own. His army well-built and amassed in the millions. They swept in like a scourge, devouring all things we held dear. We stood no chance, the soldiers marched from city to city, town to town, burning, pillaging, raping, and dividing. The night sky was set ablaze and the earth cried out from the wash of blood that flooded upon it. The screams of the dying roared like the sounds of hell, the many left alive wept bitterly for their lost, children called out for their mothers and received no reply. His domination had left my country in ruins. My people were brutalized and used as an example of the might of that one country.

Russia.

That name still sends shivers down my back, the cold, cruel nation of the North. His odd lavender eyes filled with an unholy light, battle gear glittering and splashed with the blood of my countrymen. He set about his dealings like a flitting whisper of death, cackling madly as he strove for as much bloodshed and destruction as he could. He toyed with his victims before finally; after they begged for death; he delivered them unto their maker. His face filled with a childlike delight, a smile always present and the gleeful laugh that would haunt me for years later. His childlike demeanor was belied by his sheer size, standing at over six feet he was an imposing figure, coupled with his bloodthirsty attitude and salted with the petulance of a child who hasn't gotten his way, he was a fearsome enemy, a natural Leader and brutally plain in his wants and desires.

Unfortunately for us, what he wanted was my Country, Lithuania.

My partner, Poland, was if possible, brutalized even further. He was of little use to the cold-hearted nation. I on the other hand, a land filled with fields of rye, close at hand, less belligerent and brokenly docile. I was the perfect answer to the problem of feeding his massive army and the millions of starving "Comrades". Poland was taken to the rows of tents that had sprung up after the invasion had run its course and handed out to the higher ranking officers for their, "enjoyment". Once they were done, a deal was struck with Germany, and he was sold for their purposes. He doesn't speak of the time he calls "Occupation", but from the many whispered murmurings and muttered conversations, I have gathered that Germany abused his lands and used his fields for death and destruction.  
>I on the other hand, was taken to the biggest tent and restrained to an iron pole that had been buried deep in the blood soaked ground. I knew that the tent I was in must have belonged to the larger nation, and I fought valiantly to get away. I had no idea what he wanted with me, but after the ravages of war that had spoiled my lands I knew it couldn't be anything good.<br>I didn't have long to wait, he wasn't one to wait for something and this instance was no different. His harsh language rang out, and I could feel the shuddering of the earth as he drew nearer. Many of his subordinates sounded terrified of him, and the tones they used were calming and apologetic. His own men feared the monster he had shown himself to be, this along with the nights events caused me much distress. Images of what might be done flashed in my mind's eye and by the time the personification had even reached the tent entrance, I had worked myself into a hysterical frenzy. His face held no measure of pity, if anything my fear served to heighten his excitement. His large form crowded the entry and he was a fearsome to me as he was on the battle field mere hours earlier. He stalked to me, his steps heavy and oddly…wobbly. He was not steady on his feet, and looking to his hands I could see a large bottle of a clear liquid more than half empty. He was drunk.

His expression the entire time had not changed from the perpetual gleeful grin that he had worn even during battle. He circled around me, gauging something that he alone knew; I tried to contain my hysteria but failed miserably. My clothing was torn and bloodied, stained with the life blood of my country's defenders and my own. He took in my injuries and tilted his head as he reached for the collar of my shirt, moving it aside to glance at a rather deep cut on my shoulder. I wiggled as much as my binding would let me, trying to escape his touch. His drunkenness scared me; the man had no inhibitions when sober what else might he try while drunk?

As if he knew my thoughts, he drew closer and put his mouth level with my ear, "You, little one, will make a fine addition to the collection I have started. Be mindful of your willingness, while I don't hesitate to say the loss of such a pretty thing would be…sad, I would not hesitate to end you if it was in my best interest to be free of you." At the words spoken brokenly in my own tongue, my blood ran cold. It was in effect a warning, a threat, and a promise all at once. And it gave me insight into just how deeply my life would be changed. Be obedient, or die was essentially what he was telling me. If I expected to live to escape his control one day, my docile nature was what would serve me best. He dropped his bottle of poison to the floor and clasped both hands to my shoulders; my gasp of pain seemed to just encourage him.

His nails dug into my flesh as he proceeded to tear at my clothes, his smile had faded and in its place a terrifying mix of intensity and lust had clouded his eyes and facial features. I was by no means innocent of the ways of men, but looking into his face filled me with a fear of the unknown. Once he had torn my shirt free, pulling a knife out halfway through, too intent to care that at times he pressed too hard and created more gashes along my skin. He stopped at my belt, looking to my face and I realized that he was gauging my "obedience" a test if you would. If I let him violate me I would have cemented the first stage of becoming one, if I refused…I could still hear the raucous laughter of the Commanding Officers, and the terrified screams of Poland echoing in my mind.

No contest really, I lowered my head in defeat and he tore into the leather and last remnants of cloth that shielded me from this monster. I let loose no sound as he continued to cut too deeply leaving marks and bloody cuts as I was left bare to his eyes, my legs curled of their own accord towards my stomach, trying to protect my vulnerable belly and ribcage. He stepped closer and began to touch me; it took me a second to realize that he was looking me over as one might a horse. He stopped at the tops of my shoulders where he had begun his examination and clamped one hand down while the other ran up to my hair. He threaded his fingers through it as if examining that as well before he pulled it taut and dragged me into a standing position. The glint in his eye had grown cold, and before I knew what was happening, the sudden snap and pop of his hand connecting with my jaw rang out. My head snapped to the side and I tried to contain my tears, he was testing me, if I could take it or not. I steeled myself as he let go of my hair and brought up both fists. I closed my eyes and let my head drop, if I tried to protect anything, he's just move my hands and hit me there anyways. His first jab was hardly a punch, but I could see he was testing the waters, trying to get me to react. I bit the inside of my cheek and prepared myself for the beating.

His next punch was not so restrained, it caught my left cheek and snapped my head back, my teeth sank into the flesh of my cheek as I tried not to let out a whimper. After that one punch everything blurred, so many blows rained down on my body I was surprised I could stand. Rabbit punches, backhands, jabs to the ribs, I lost track of where those hands hit and all I could do was pray that it ended soon. I kept my eyes closed, not wanting to see what I knew would be that demonic light lighting his eyes as he beat me to an inch of my life. The inside of my mouth was quickly becoming a torn bloody mess from me biting down in my attempts to not scream. My distraction was cut through when I could feel his hands concentrating on one of my legs and I couldn't help the scream that broke through my bruised lips as I could feel the bone straining against the assault.

Seemingly satisfied he pulled back and smirked before he pulled out a small brass key to unlock my bonds allowing me no time to recover from the beating I had been subjected to. Impatient with my wobbling, he grabbed the tops of my shoulders and hauled me to a flap in the tent wall that led to his sleeping quarters.

I tried to quell the onset of fear and was mentally losing the battle as we drew closer. I didn't have much time to ponder exactly what he was going to do to me, as he suddenly pushed me on to the bed and began to again tie me up. Once done he drew away and began to pull off his own clothing, stopping every now and again to take a drink from yet another bottle of clear liquid. Finally he stood there in his undergarments accessing me and looked contemplative. Cocking his head he stared a while longer before quickly undoing the bonds once again and handing me a nightshirt. My eyes widened as he put back on his Great Coat, foregoing his other clothing and pulling on his boots. He held out a hand for me to take and being the coward I was, I took it without question.

He pulled me, stumbling from the tent and into the quiet bustle of the campgrounds, where we were going I had no idea, but He seemed to know exactly where to go. The many we passed looked on and leered at my state of undress. I blushed heavily and kept my head down, allowing the larger man to lead me without complaint. We walked nearly the length of the camp before he stopped and I peered around him in confusion, what he would want at the blacksmith now, I had no idea. And why I had to come along added to that confusion. He sat me down on a stool beside the furnace and I turned to it gratefully, thankful to be able to rest my sore and aching body, ignoring Russia as he began a conversation with the smithy. His tone suggested an impatience that seemed to be a trademark, and a kind of childlike cajoling. The man he was talking to sighed heavily and looked to me before disappearing into the back of the hastily set up Smithy. He returned sometime later carrying what I could only see to be as a brand, setting it in the coals that I was huddled near. It looked like a jumbled mass of metal and I soon lost interest, busy trying to decipher what was being said. The Smithy had notched his voice a level and was shaking his head before turning away and walking out to the camp. The larger nation stared after him for a moment before turning to me and lifting me bodily from the chair. Startled I shouted and tried to fight his grasp before he set me down and with a motion to fast to see, backhanded me hard enough to see stars.

While I was dazed by the pain, he set to work on restraining me again, only this time he wrapped a bond round my waist and then pulled the night shirt up and over my head. Everything finally came into a clear view. This wasn't some random nighttime visit to the smithy; I was here to receive my mark. And apparently he didn't believe in just a light cut on the palm, or the masses of bruises that he inflicted upon me, to be enough. That mess of metal was for…for branding. Panic bubbled up and soon I was bucking against the chains, trying to escape, the nightshirt over my head blinded me and that helped to ratchet my fear up yet another level. A hand laid itself on my shoulder, the unexpected touch frightened me and I whimpered out in fear. A laugh sounded behind me and I could hear the sound of a chastising tone, the smithy must have come back. Some whispered conversation ensued, the last a rough bark. A command. I tensed and even before it touched me I could feel the white hot heat of the brand moving closer, the movement was halted in hesitation before it was moved forward determinedly and the pain exploded just below my shoulder blades. Black spots dotted my vision and I could feel my grasp of consciousness slipping. The last thing I saw before the blackness ate at everything was the gleeful leer and bright lavender eyes watching as I slipped into the void.

I came awake slowly, taking note of everything I could analyze with my eyes still shut. I was on my stomach, which from the nearly paralyzing pain that still licked at my body and my back. It felt like the very skin had been flayed off and then to add insult had been rubbed with salt and vinegar. A hand was rubbing slowly along the very edges of the pain and as my eyes cleared my vision was filled with the pinkish flesh of the one who had caused me so much pain. I stared at him, wondering what else he had in store for me, now that I was claimed as his, and he had me completely at his mercy, in no way capable of fighting. The answer came soon enough when he rose onto his knees and crawled slowly over me to settle between my bruised thighs. My eyes flickered closed and I tried to regulate my breathing, I knew what he was about to do and I knew that any fight would not help me but only serve to anger him or excite him further.  
>His fingers fumbled around stroking and probing, he had not been thoughtful enough to use oil and so because of it, it hurt. He seemed to be searching for a reaction and I was trying in my own way, to rebel, by refusing to co-operate. His fingers continued to probe, to stretch and I kept quiet. Finally he grew tired of waiting for some kind of response and I could hear the sound of him reaching for something before, without warning, he tried to enter me. If the pain hadn't have been enough to distract me before, it was now. My harsh breathing was hitched and sobs bubbled up threatening to escape. I had been neither prepared fully nor given warning and his intrusion had hurt more than I had expected. He didn't cease in his thrusting either, seeming to take my gasping pleas for him to stop as an acquiescent bid for more. He continued his shallow rutting as he tried to introduce the rest of himself in to me. I could feel myself tearing as he continued his violent assault.<p>

With a particularly violent thrust he forced the rest of the way in, my eyes squeezed shut as I bit back the scream in my throat. His large hands roved my battered body, I prayed to whatever deity that was watching the shameful degradation I was being subjected to that he would leave the feverish skin of the brand alone. Terror was racing through my body, as potent as any drug and I could feel my grasp of reality slipping as his hands circled that one spot, drawing nearer and nearer to it, never stilling in his violent thrusting. A small chuckle as he must have noticed the tension in my body as I waited for him to touch the burn, his hands hesitated for a few nerve-wracking seconds before one latched on to my shoulder and the other wound itself in my shoulder length hair. He used both as leverage to slam even harder into my pain filled body.

He shifted suddenly mid-thrust and to my shame I moaned loudly at the stimulation of my prostate. He laughed, and continued to angle himself, striking that spot as much as possible. Even through the painful haze I could feel myself start to respond to his actions. My cheeks burned with shame and I tried to stop it, but failed miserably when he began to speed up. His hand left my shoulder and propping my knees a little he was able to wrap his hand around my arousal, each his hand moved in tandem with his thrusting, violent and yet…I responded to it. My mind made up for the lack of control my body had, a litany of expletives and harsh scolding aimed at myself. It was rape, not something I wanted…I shouldn't have enjoyed. But contrary to what my mind was telling me, my body responded to a particularly well aimed thrust and I found myself releasing into his hand. He continued thrusting for a few minutes more until he tensed suddenly and I could feel his release coating my insides. Marking me yet again as his property.

He rolled off of me and lay next to me quietly, just staring at me with those odd violet eyes. I let my knees slip down and partially hid my face in a pillow, too ashamed to look at him full on, but yet too terrified to not keep an eye on his every movement. He yawned hugely before wrapping a hand around my middle and hauling me against his body, I let out a muffled scream as my burn came in contact with his sweaty skin. He scooted away slightly before pressing a large piece of cloth to it and moving me back into place. I stayed still waiting for him to fall asleep. If I was going to fall to pieces, I didn't want him being witness to it. He might own me now, but I'd be damned if I showed just how truly terrified and uncertain I was.

I was once told by Nations much older than I, that it is our lot in life to continually fight, to protect what we have. To battle till our bodies fail, and our soul is broken. Because to lose is to lose your sense of self, to no longer be master of your own fate. You were no longer owner of anything, your people, your land, and you yourself could and probably would be raped for anything and everything you had. Until you were so bled out you couldn't fight back anymore.

I cried myself out that night, that one night was all I had for any emotional or mental breakdown I could have. Anymore and I would lost my will to live. And I had vowed to myself that I wouldn't let that happen. I had to be strong and survive enough to get myself back on my feet, to be able to escape Russia's house. To find Poland and maybe we could once again become one of the most powerful Common Wealth's in Europe. To do that I would have to survive, and I was determined to.

Little did I know, this was only the beginning…

-RUSSLIETRUSSLIET-

A/N: =-=;; Forgive me dear readers of starting yet another thing without finishing up my other thing…

This popped up in my head the other night…and I had to write it down. I'm always so mean to Toris…=-=;; poor baby…I really do love him…but with RussLiet you have to understand that for me I see it as this perspective: While Russia may really love Liet…I see them as having this love-fear most the time. It's the way I RP Russia and also the way, if I ever GET a Liet for my cosplay, I would cosplay him as well. He's rather…messed up in the mind. He's afraid of losing Toris and to keep him from leaving he'd do anything to make him stay. Not that you should beat, rape and hurt the person you love so they stay with you. Evidently it doesn't work.  
>…that sounds really bad. But that's Ivan for you.<p>

I hope you liked it…even if it was rather violent….and ;n; sad….  
>Comment, Review, Critique, hell even flame if you want… =-=;<br>As previously stated, this will be a trilogy of one shots. The next one is a surprise so stay tuuuuuned~! 3  
>Also: 3<br>SIL (Steps in Light) Is being continued…just…slowly  
>Kankinta….;u; I'm trying…it should be updated soon..<p> 


End file.
